Obvious
by Resrie71
Summary: Of all the things for Sherlock to be wrong about, this was undoubtedly the worst. NOW WITH AN EPILOGUE THAT BOOSTS THE RATING TO 'MATURE'
1. Chapter 1

They stumbled into the front hallway of Baker Street, laughing hysterically. John leaned against the wall, head thrown back, tears streaming down his face. Sherlock braced himself against the banister, trying to catch his breath.

"Oh God, that was brilliant," John gasped. "The look on Anderson's face! God, I love you."

Sherlock froze. He had never expected to hear those words, directed at him, from John Watson. He had felt this way for so long, buried it deep for so long, he positively _couldn't _think. He just reacted.

Sherlock surged forward, and in one motion, his hands were on John's shoulders, pressing him back gently but firmly against the wall, his lips were pressing against John's, and his dreams were finally being realized.

He was so high on the moment that it took more than a few seconds to realize that not only was John _not_ kissing him back, but the hands on his chest were pushing him _away_. Something large and cold settled into the pit of his stomach and he opened his eyes to find John staring at him, a look of utter panic on his face.

Sherlock swallowed audibly. Oh no. Of all the things to be wrong about...

"Sher-"

Before John could even finish his name, Sherlock turned and raced up the stairs at lightning speed. An impossibly short time passed before John heard the door to Sherlock's room slam shut.

What the hell was all that about? What had just happened? John thought back to his words right before that...whatever that was...and winced.

Oh lord. He'd told Sherlock he loved him. And then Sherlock had kissed him. Even Anderson couldn't fail to make the connection there.

Sherlock Holmes loved him. Loved him enough that as soon as he thought it was reciprocated, he'd kissed John. Quite passionately.

And now what? He hadn't meant it _that_ way, of course. John cared very deeply for Sherlock, of that there was no doubt. Sherlock was his best friend. But that was it. Best _friend_. Not boyfriend. Not lover. Completely, strictly, platonically. John didn't feel that way about men. Ever.

He would be lying to himself if he thought for one minute that he could just forget that the kiss had happened. Could Sherlock 'delete' it? John certainly hoped he wouldn't. Not that he wanted to repeat the experience, but if he was going to be jumpy around Sherlock for a bit, then it would be helpful if Sherlock at least remembered _why_.

John had no doubt that, given time, he and Sherlock could get through this. He just hoped that it happened quickly, what with the holidays coming on. It was John's favorite time of year and he certainly didn't want to be estranged from his best friend now.

He trudged up the stairs, his thoughts as heavy as his feet. He glanced down the hall to see Sherlock's door firmly shut. John sighed. He'd leave him be tonight. They could hash this out in the morning.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Bollocks.

It had been three days since the hallway incident and Sherlock had yet to emerge from his room. Even for Sherlock, this one was a particularly long sulk.

Enough was enough.

John strode up to the door and rapped on it firmly. He wasn't going to waste time or mince words.

"Sherlock, you have three minutes to get out here and eat something, or I'm calling Mycroft. "

John headed back to the kitchen and began to fix breakfast.

Two minutes and fifty-four seconds later, Sherlock opened his door and walked into the kitchen, his face completely, carefully, neutral.

He sat in his chair at the table and John placed a mug of tea in front of him, alongside a plate with a slice of buttered toast.

"Start with that, " John commanded." How do you want your eggs?"

Sherlock cleared his throat before responding. "Scrambled will be fine." They both winced at how nervous he sounded.

Two minutes later, a plate of eggs was presented. For the first time, Sherlock glanced up at John's face, but could read only grim determination. He sighed. He picked up his fork and ate.

When the eggs were finished, Sherlock finally risked the one question that has been plaguing him for the last three days as he listened to John's movements around the flat.

"Why are you still here?" Sherlock braced himself for the answer, wondering if he would now find out that this was the end of his association with John Watson.

There was a sharp intake of breath from where John was standing behind him, leaning against the hob.

"Do you want me to leave?" Honestly, John hadn't even considered it.

"No!" Sherlock felt panic and confusion battling for dominance and had to risk one more query. Sherlock turned his head slightly to observe John's reaction. "Don't you want to?"

John snorted. _Snorted_!

"Hell, no, I don't want to leave, Sherlock. You're my best friend. That hasn't changed. Yes, I expect things to be a bit awkward for a while, but nothing has really changed. Not for me anyways," he sounded a trifle uncertain.

Sherlock visibly sagged with relief. He wasn't going to lose John over this. He had made a colossal mistake, but John, wonderful John, wasn't going to hold it against him. They could go back to the way they had always been.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Nothing was the way it had always been.

It had been nearly two weeks since that ill fated kiss, and nothing was working anymore. Bless John, he seemed determined to act normal, but even he was showing the strain. It was all wrong, nothing was easy, not anymore.

The crime scenes were awful.

When John had complimented Sherlock on his deduction, Sherlock had turned to him and smiled (as he always had) and John had gotten all flustered, blushed, _apologized_, and had turned and walked off aways. Lestrade looked like he had misplaced his eyebrows, they were so far up toward his hairline, Anderson's jaw had dropped open, and even Donovan was speechless.

It was the last time John had complimented him.

They no longer went to dinner after solving a case.

In fact, anything that could have been in any way construed as date-ish stopped completely. No meals together, no coffee, even stakeouts were awkward now. Where before they used to huddle together in alleys, behind vehicles, skips, in doorways, now there was always distance between them. It may have only been a few feet, but it may as well have been a mile wide chasm.

The worst was at home.

They had always been so tactile. John touching the middle of Sherlock's back as he moved past him in the kitchen. Fingers brushing as cups of tea were handed off. The casual ruffle of hair when walking past each other's chairs. Sherlock used to routinely rest his feet in John's lap as they sprawled on the sofa watching those horrid Bond movies. All gone.

Intellectually, he understood what John was doing. By cutting off all the closeness they had shared, he was hoping to not encourage Sherlock's romantic feelings, and was making sure he didn't lead him on in any way. Sherlock appreciated the effort, but it didn't keep him from feeling more alone and abandoned than he ever had before in his life.

Sherlock took some comfort from the fact that he wasn't the only one showing the strain. John was looking decidedly worn around the edges lately. The fact that he was persevering through all of this horror was evidence to Sherlock that their relationship meant just as much to John as it did to him. Maybe they would be alright. Eventually.

~0~0~0~0~0~

John was miserable. He had known that the relationship he shared with Sherlock was extraordinary, but he hadn't realized how important it was to him, how much he treasured it, until it was threatened like this.

He was trying to keep his distance. Help Sherlock get over him, if that was even possible. Emotional attachments were not something Sherlock experienced lightly. John could only hope that his friend was able go back to a friendship with him. The thought of no longer having Sherlock in his life did not bear contemplating.

John was completely willing to admit a selfish motivation for continuing his relationship with Sherlock. He didn't like to think about what his life post-army and pre-Sherlock had been like. Sure, he had his job at the surgery now, but he didn't associate with any of those people outside of work. All of his friends, everything he did now, was all part and parcel with Sherlock. The crime scenes, the pub quizzes with the Yarders, pints with Lestrade, were all part of his wonderful life with Sherlock. Hell, he'd probably even miss getting kidnapped by Mycroft occasionally.

Then there was the closeness that he and Sherlock had had from the start. No one had ever made him feel so infuriated, important, stupid, and..._necessary_... in his life. Usually in the span of one conversation. Even at the height of his sulks, Sherlock made him feel needed in a way that John, as strange as it sounded, appreciated. Could he live without all of that? He sure as hell didn't want to. He had to make this work.

Christmas was only a few days away now. He had already cancelled any festivities Mrs. Hudson might have had planned. Sherlock at social gatherings was surly enough; with things the way they were now, John couldn't stomach the idea of a get together at their place.

John startled slightly as the text alert on his phone sounded. He experienced an attack of nerves at seeing Lestrade's name pop up on the screen. The last thing they needed right now was another awkward-as-hell case. He raised an eyebrow at the one word message.

_Pint? _

He sighed. It was only to be expected that Lestrade would want some answers after the last couple of times he and Sherlock attended crime scenes. He wouldn't be surprised if the betting pool had been completely refunded at this point.

_Ok. Half an hour? _

_See you then._

~0~0~0~0~0~

Lestrade was waiting for him in the back corner, away from the tellys, two pints already on the table. John collapsed into the seat across from him.

"So what the hell is going on with you two? The whole Yard can't stop speculating about it. If nothing was getting done before, even less is getting done now!"

"Just get right to the point, why don't you Greg. I have no idea what to tell you." John picked up his pint and took a long pull. "I had an 'I love you, man' moment with Sherlock a couple of weeks ago, he thought I meant it _that_ way, he kissed me, I don't swing that way, and now it's a mess."

Greg looked completely dumbfounded. "So you mean you two never...at all?"

"No, of course, no...God, does _everyone _think we're going at it?"

Greg opened his mouth, closed it again, took a deep breath, and just dove in.

"Do you have any idea what you're like around him? It's not just Sherlock that acts differently, you know. When you're around, he at least attempts to be a reasonable human being. The scenes you can't show up to he really doesn't make the effort. Especially if you aren't there because you have a date. There's nearly an audible sigh of relief we we see you tagging along behind him. And you? You constantly look like you're watching for a bullet to jump in front of for him. That could be just being best mates, but..." He trailed off seeming to be unsure whether to go on. Greg took several swallows from his pint and continued. "I wish you could see yourself the times he flirts with the birds, or blokes for that matter, to get some bit of information out of them. You either look like you're going be sick, or you look mad as hell. And God help them if they flirt back! Those are the times I'm checking your waistband to see if you're carrying. Not that I blame you, Sherlock's a right fine looking bloke, and a bloody genius to boot. There's certainly worst blokes to fall for, or have fall for you."

Silence descended over the table as John contemplated all of this. It did bother him when Sherlock flirted on cases, even though he knew it meant nothing. And there was no denying Sherlock's physical appeal. John had always put off his preoccupation with Sherlock's looks to envy over his height, thick curly hair, and absolutely mesmerizing eyes. He was the type who would always stand out in a crowd, where John would simply fade away into it. Hell, if anyone stood in front of him, you wouldn't even see him. But now he had to wonder, was it envy? Or attraction?

Lestrade took mercy on him. "Finish your pint and just think about it, okay? You two are good for each other. I'd hate to see it end over something like this." He gulped down the dregs of his pint and stood up. "Or over anything for that matter." He gave John's shoulder a pat as he went by and left him to his thoughts.

John sat in the pub, nursing his pint and trying to gather his thoughts, but the crowd kept intruding. He left the last third in the glass and ambled out. He always thought better while walking.

He hadn't gotten more that a block and a half away from the pub when a familiar black car pulled up alongside him. He sighed. He could walk away, but it would only delay the inevitable. The door opened and he climbed in and sat next to Mycroft.

"Good evening, Dr. Watson," Mycroft intoned. John winced. Formality from Mycroft was never a good thing, especially when he had been 'John' for so long now.

"Good evening, Mycroft." John waited, with a good deal of nerves, to see how this was going to play out. One did not simply hurt Mycroft's little brother and think there would not be consequences.

"What are your intentions regarding Sherlock, Dr. Watson?"

"My intentions have never changed, Mycroft. I've never wanted anything else but to be his friend, look out for him, protect him, from himself if necessary."

"Then kindly explain the current...difficulties...the two of you seem to be having. Obviously things _have_ changed, I haven't seen this level of despondency from Sherlock since prior to his rehab. And since time travel hasn't been achieved at this point, things cannot simply go back to the way they were. The question then remains _how are you going to go forward from here?"_

"I don't know," John replied hesitantly. "I need to think…"

"No, Dr. Watson. You don't. You already know what you think of Sherlock Holmes. The question is 'how do you _feel_ about him'?"

John's mouth snapped shut. He thought for a good long minute, which must have been an eternity for Mycroft.

"You're right, Mycroft." He chuckled weakly. "But then, you usually are. Drop me at Regent's, please?"

"Certainly….John."

~0~0~0~0~0~

John sat on his favorite bench at Regent's Park. While walking helping him think, true meditative contemplation was aided by sitting quietly and just _being_.

How did he feel about Sherlock Holmes?

John knew he cared deeply for the man, loved him even. But was that love purely platonic? Could it be anything more?

He began with immersing himself in memories of all the girlfriends he had had throughout his life. There had been a few that he would say he had loved, truly. Girlfriends that he had been upset and devastated over when things hadn't worked out for whatever reason. Melanie had been transferred to her company's location in Paris. Janelle apparently hadn't felt as strongly for him as he had for her since she had cheated on him. Lisa had dropped him like a brick when he had joined the army. Since then, no one else had been able to compete when it came to Sherlock.

That was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? Since Sherlock had rescued him from his dismal, boring life after he returned to London wounded, no one else was as important to him. He had chucked many a date to go running after his brilliant madman. The thought of losing Sherlock….he may as well say he had never loved before for the pain that thought brought him.

But was that love romantic? He didn't feel any closer to an answer than when he had sat down.

Alright, let's try something more basic. Attraction. Did he find Sherlock attractive? He actually laughed. You'd have to be blind, deaf, and well, stupid, to _not_ find Sherlock attractive. Was he attracted to Sherlock? He thought back to the hallway incident. He had been shocked by the contact, but more because he had had no idea that Sherlock felt that way, that he _could_ feel that way, than anything else. He hadn't been repulsed at all.

He thought back to the feel of Sherlock's lips on his. It hadn't been so different. He tried to imagine what intimacy with Sherlock would be like, but couldn't quite wrap his head around it yet. He thought about the intimate things that they already had shared, the casual touches, Sherlock with his feet in his lap on the couch, and simply tried to take it a step further. Holding hands. Cuddling. Sleeping (just sleeping) together. Hmmm. No problems there. Now a kiss, an actual, anticipated, mutual kiss.

John felt his chest constrict slightly. As much as he may have tried to put it down to distaste in the past, now it was his, and Sherlock's, future he was considering. He thought of everything he knew about the man. He knew any relationship with Sherlock would be intense, just as their friendship was. He thought about being the focus of that much passion, that kind of intensity.

What the hell was he doing sitting here alone in the park? He had a consulting detective to seduce….

~0~0~0~0~0~

Sherlock lay on the sofa, pondering the crack in the ceiling. It had lengthened by four centimeters since they had moved in. He wondered if it would get the chance to lengthen more while there were still the two of them living here. Or if John would move out. Things were as tense as they had been since his stupidity. John had been gone all afternoon, and he didn't have a shift at the surgery. Was he out looking for a new flat? Chatting up friends for sofa availability? Maybe out looking for a new girlfriend to move in with…

He heard John's key in the door downstairs. Was this it? Was this when John would finish the destruction of Sherlock Holmes?

He startled slightly as he heard John bounding up the stairs, two at a time. John was excited, keyed up over something. A new girlfriend, perhaps?

John burst through the sitting room door and the brilliance of his smile took Sherlock's breath away. His heart clenched. Who was the reason for that smile?

"Sherlock! Come on, up off that sofa! Get dressed! We're going out!"

Sherlock was stunned at having that million watt smile turned upon him. "What? What are you-" He was further shocked when John reached down, _grasped his wrist_, and pulled him up to stand before him.

"Get dressed, whoa, scratch that. Take a shower, then get dressed. You've been neglecting yourself and that's not the Sherlock I know. Hurry up, we need to be at Angelo's in 40 minutes."

Slightly dazed, and still holding his wrist where John had touched him, voluntarily, for the first time in weeks, Sherlock headed to the bathroom, closed and locked the door and turned on the water.

He went through his ablutions on autopilot, his mind spinning in circles. John was happy. John wanted to go out to dinner with him. John had touched him. Dare he hope that things could be getting back to normal? He knew better than to hope for anything else.

He rinsed quickly, toweled off, and dressed with due haste. Striding back out to the sitting room, he was somewhat surprised to find himself alone. Had John left without him? Ah, there was his voice, drifting up the stairs, chatting with Mrs. Hudson. Something about the holiday party she had been trying to plan. Something about Sherlock maybe not being comfortable in a new situation. The echos in the hall made it difficult to separate the words.

John must have heard his foot scuff the floor at the top of the stairs. He appeared instantly, smiling. "Ready?"

Sherlock gave a small nod, and descended the stairs. Together they made their way out onto Baker Street for the short walk to Angelo's. Why would John worry about his comfort level at a social gathering? He never liked social gatherings, especially when there were.…. new people.

Oh gods. John had meet someone. Someone he didn't think Sherlock would be comfortable around. Were they headed to meet her now? They were still two blocks from the restaurant. He still had time to bail out.

This was one thing he simply could not handle right now. To just get John back, only to have to share him with someone else right away. Still, he had been wrong about John and his reactions before...

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. John walked a step or two before turning to face him.

"Something wrong? Sherlock, are you okay?" There was genuine concern in his voice. John reached out and placed a reassuring hand at Sherlock's elbow. It was a struggle not to lean into his touch, innocent as it was.

"Sherlock, what is it?"

"John, are we-," he paused, cleared his throat, tried again. "Are we meeting someone?"

John smiled up at him again. Sherlock's heart was pounding, waiting for his response.

"No, Sherlock. We aren't meeting anyone. I usually don't invite a third party on my dates...of course that never stopped you from showing up anyways…" he turned and took a couple of steps before realizing that Sherlock wasn't following him. He turned back. "Sher?"

"Date?" It wasn't much more that a whisper.

"Yes, Sherlock. A date. It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun."

"And do you? Like _me_?"

John sighed, stepped closer, and took one of Sherlock's hands in his. "I owe you an enormous apology. It didn't even occur to me to give the idea of 'us' a chance until I had some sense drummed into me this afternoon. Twice. Then I had to let it percolate around for a bit. I finally realized that no, I don't have any idea if things will work out between us, but I would much rather try, than lose you for certain. The thought of losing you, honestly, scares the hell out of me. This is all new to me so I need to ask that we take it slow, but I want to try. I thought we could start with dinner. What do you say?"

"John, I-...I," Sherlock realized that he was perilously close to fainting. How long _had_ it been since he had eaten?

John seemed to come to the same conclusion and did the only thing that he could think of to steady him. He pulled Sherlock into a firm embrace.

"It's all right, I've got you. And I'm not going anywhere."

Sherlock calmed in John's arms. He took a deep shuddering breath.

"Okay now?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Then lets get seated in the restaurant before you fall down." He turned and led Sherlock towards Angelo's, still holding Sherlock's hand in his own.

As they entered the restaurant, John heard his phone chime with a text alert.

_Well done, John._ MH

_**Later that evening**_

After John supervised Sherlock's consumption of more calories in one meal than he had eaten in the last three weeks combined, they returned to Baker Street relaxed, happy, and slightly nervous. Sherlock excused himself to change into pyjamas as his tailored trousers were no longer remotely comfortable.

After changing, he stalled in his bedroom. Now what? John's reaction to his last attempt at a kiss

was less than ideal, and other than the embrace in the street, they had done nothing more than hold hands through dinner while Angelo beamed at them. John said he needed to take it slow, it was all new to him. It was _all _new to Sherlock. He had never had someone care for him the way John did. Without someone to care for him, he had never cared for anyone else. He had absolutely no idea what to do now.

"You alright?" John called out from the sitting room.

"Just be a moment." Sherlock called back. He was wishing he hadn't eaten quite so much at dinner, but it had made John so happy. Now however, he was feeling quite nauseous.

He took a deep breath and headed back out to the sitting room, to find John on the sofa, starting up one of those horrid Bond films. He sighed in relief. At least he knew what was expected here. He flopped down on the sofa and put his feet up in John's lap.

John smiled. "Not quite what I had in mind."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.

"Flip 'round this way."

Sherlock hesitated for a moment. This was new territory, they hadn't done anything like this before. But then again, they had never been _dating_ before.

For once, Sherlock didn't ask or argue. He just did as requested, turned around, and lying on his side, placed his head in John's lap.

John curled one arm lightly around Sherlock's torso, and ran the fingers of his other hand through Sherlock's hair.

Throughout the film, John continually carded his fingers through Sherlock's curls and lightly rubbed his other hand over portions of Sherlock's abdomen and torso. It was the most enjoyable Bond film ever.

After spending the entire film completely blissed out, Sherlock asked the one question that he hadn't been able to deduce the answer to all night.

"Why did you tell Mrs. Hudson that we still didn't want to have the Christmas party? I know how much you enjoy this time of year, giving gifts, seeing friends. We could do the party, if you want."

"I do enjoy the holidays, and the parties can be a lot of fun. But Christmas is the day after tomorrow, and we are both starting something completely new. I figured we could use the time alone. Plus, I haven't gotten you anything yet and have no idea what to get for my new boyfriend. What do you want for Christmas, Sherlock?"

Sherlock twisted slightly so he was completely on his back and gazing up into John's eyes.

"I already have it."


	2. Epilogue

**A/N: I got some requests for an epilogue to this story, and this started percolating around in my head. BE WARNED: THERE BE SMUT AHEAD, NOT INCREDIBLY GRAPHIC SMUT, BUT SMUT NONETHELESS...**

_**3 months later**_

They stumbled into the front hallway of Baker Street, laughing hysterically. John leant against the wall, head thrown back, tears streaming down his face. Sherlock braced himself against the bannister, trying to catch his breath.

"Oh God, that was brilliant," John gasped. "Anderson is such an idiot! God, I love you."

Sherlock grinned, his eyes shining at John. He surged forward….

Their hands plunged into each other's hair as their lips met in a heated kiss. The post-case-snogging-session-in-the-hallway tradition had started the case after that monumental dinner at Angelo's. True, that first snogging session hadn't been quite so passionate as this one, but it quickly became the norm for them to embrace (and more) upon arriving home after solving a case.

In the days after John had told Sherlock that he wanted them to try, that he was more terrified of losing Sherlock without ever finding out if it could work, John had told Sherlock that he truly regretted turning him down so flat after that first kiss.

"I want, no, I really _need_, to make it up to you," John had haltingly explained. "I'll never forget the look on your face when I pushed you away that day. You were shattered, horrified. I can't imagine how you felt. I did that to you. I put us through those weeks of agony because I didn't even try to think about the possibility of being with you. I'm sorry. I promise you, next time I won't push you away."

As luck would have it, at the next crime scene Anderson had once again proven his lack of competence. Upon arriving back at the flat, John had commented on his idiocy. Sherlock's gaze had snapped to John's and John had barely whispered "God, I love you."

Even with the promise heavy in the air between them Sherlock had hesitated, so John took that first step toward him, and the new tradition had been born.

Now, scarves were cast aside, shirts were being unbuttoned, and Sherlock was nipping lightly along John's clavicle. John's head was thrown back, giving him more access, his hands running over Sherlock's shoulders, pulling him closer. Sherlock's teeth sank in, marking his lover and eliciting an embarrassingly loud moan. Sherlock pulled back, reluctantly.

"Upstairs," he panted against John's neck. "Before Mrs. Hudson comes out and catches us. Again."

John laughed weakly. "That would be what, three times? She'll kill us."

Sherlock pulled John forward off the wall and gave him a gentle shove towards the stairs. John raced up to the landing, then turned back while Sherlock was still one step below him. It was the only time he had a height advantage on Sherlock, and even then it was only a half inch or so. Oh well, he'd take what he could get.

He slipped a hand around Sherlock's nape and pulled him in for another kiss. Sherlock, in his haste to get into their flat, kept backing John up, around the landing and to the next flight, where they nearly went sprawling when John's heels caught on the first step.

"Keep moving, John," Sherlock muttered against John's lips. " You know the stairs are off limits too. "

"She was so happy when we got together." John chuckled, his eyes smiling up into his beau's. "Didn't take her too long to start making rules." John got his feet under him and continued backing up the stairs, dragging Sherlock with him.

"Maybe if her sister hadn't been with her when she walked in on us that one time... "

They crashed into the sitting room, Sherlock backing John towards the sofa.

"Oh no, love. You forgot rule number three. Again."

Sherlock sighed, releasing his hold on John, but not taking his eyes off of him as he backed away.

"'Boys, you really must close your door! What will your clients think? Or that nice detective inspector?'" He mimicked their landlady with surprising accuracy considering his deep voice. He shut the door with slightly more force than necessary, then threw the bolt as well.

He approached John in a manner that could only be termed as predatory. He shrugged out of both the Belstaff and his designer suit jacket and dropped them unceremoniously to the floor. His hands moved to undo the buttons at his cuffs.

"No more stalling. Clothes. Off."

"Stalling? Who's stalling?" John dropped his shirt to the floor as well and met Sherlock halfway. He grasped Sherlock's shoulders and now began backing him across the sitting room.

He spun them slightly and pinned Sherlock against the low back of his chair, pushing down on his shoulders firmly until Sherlock gave in and sat on the back of the chair, evening their heights somewhat.

"That's better," John growled. "It's the only way I can reach that ridiculous neck of yours." He trailed kisses along Sherlock's jaw, back to that sensitive spot just beneath his ear, and nipped at it lightly.

Sherlock groaned and wound his arms around John, drawing him closer. As John worked his way down Sherlock's neck, Sherlock reached down and slid his hands into the waist of John's jeans, his long fingers seeking the rounded flesh and digging in.

John shoved the fitted shirt off of Sherlock's shoulders as his kisses trailed down that ridiculous neck, nipping lightly until he got to the top of his trapezius, where he bit down firmly and sucked.

The reaction from Sherlock was electric. He nearly fell off the chair when his hips shot forward to grind against John, his hands pulling John forward to increase the friction. After a gasping breath, Sherlock lowered his mouth to John's neck and returned the favour.

There was no telling which one of them was moaning in such an undignified fashion. Likely it was both of them. Hands were fumbling between them as they each scrabbled at the fastenings of each other's trousers. In short order, trousers were opened and hastily shoved down to their thighs, along with accompanying pants.

As their cocks brushed against each other, both men pulled back slightly and gazed down between them. Sherlock reverently wrapped a hand around them both, inhaling sharply at their combined heat.

"Oh, God, yes," John fairly growled, placing one hand over Sherlock's and increasing the pressure, just slightly. His other hand he plunged back into Sherlock's curls, tipping his head back to ravage his mouth again.

Sherlock began to positively claw at his trousers where they were bunched close to his knees, seeking the pocket. He managed to shove his hand in and retrieved a small tube of lube.

John rumbled out a laugh. "What, you carry that with you everywhere?"

"Complaining?"

"Not in the least," John gasped at the sensation as Sherlock applied a copious amount to his hand and began his fevered movements again.

"Oh, Christ," John's breath accelerated to pants as he began to rut furiously against Sherlock. He dropped his forehead down onto Sherlock's shoulder and closed his eyes, trying to draw out the pleasure for them both. Sweet Jesus, this wasn't going to last long….

It was with relief that he heard Sherlock begin to let out a high, keening whine, tension making his whole frame rigid.

John lifted his head and took in the glorious sight of Sherlock coming undone. Seeing Sherlock's eyes wide, pupils fully dilated, mouth open, breath rasping hoarsely, was always enough to send John over the edge…

Sherlock came harshly, ropes of semen landing on his stomach and chest. John cried out as he began to orgasm before Sherlock even finished. Seeing their ejaculate combined on Sherlock's torso made him want to come all over again.

They collapsed together, heedless of the mess, kissing lightly and letting their breathing calm.

John began to chuckle and Sherlock quirked a brow at him.

"Are we ever going to make it to the bedroom after a case?"

"A post-case shag? Occur in the bedroom? I thought that was against _our_ rules…" Sherlock ran his gaze over his lover and shuddered inwardly. His still had a hard time believing that this was actually his life now. Having John. All of John. As many languages as he knew, and as exhaustive as his vocabulary, there were not words.

"Let me get something to clean us up," John sighed happily against Sherlock's shoulder. He untangled himself from Sherlock's grasping limbs, hitched his jeans back up to his waist, and leant back in for a quick peck. "I'll be right back."

He sauntered off to the bathroom, grinning like an idiot. If anyone had told him six months ago that he would be absolutely mad for his arrogant, genius, _male_ flatmate- he'd have thought they were completely off their rocker. He had been worried about being intimate with a man, feeling awkward about it, maybe not being able to be aroused at all, but he had quickly come to a realization. Loving and hating? They had nothing to do with a person's _gender_ and everything to do with the _person_. He loved Sherlock, that didn't mean he loved men in general. He couldn't stand Irene Adler, that didn't mean he couldn't stand women. As much as he had alway identified himself as straight, someone like Sally Donovan would never have stood a chance. He should have known when he ditched date after date for Sherlock, that his feelings deserved a second look.

He was still smiling to himself as he ran warm water over the flannel. He glanced up at his reflection, relaxed, happy, and...

"Sherlock! You did it _again_, damn you!" John hollered as he stormed back into the sitting room. "At least you can cover yours! How the _hell_ am I supposed to cover up _this_?" He gestured to the bright purple mark, high on his neck.

Sherlock smirked.

"I didn't hear you complaining at the time." His eyes crinkled in amusement. He waited for John to connect the dots…

John spluttered, fumed, and stomped around the sitting room. Then, realizing he still had the now cool flannel in his hands he threw it at Sherlock, who began to wipe himself up, wincing at the temperature. After getting the worst of it off of himself, he too pulled his trousers up, leaving them open. Hopefully, doing them up would have been a wasted effort.

John stopped suddenly, and spun to face Sherlock, a look of dawning creeping over his face. His eyes narrowed, and he began to stealthily moved toward his partner. Sherlock felt his pulse quicken.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you? You love marking me, but you know I get cranky about it. You know it makes me want to pin you down and mark you where everyone else can see it too. You would just love that, wouldn't you?" He could practically see Sherlock's pulse jumping in his neck as his lips parted and his respirations picked up. "You can't wait to show up to the next crime scene with us with matching love bites. Look at you, look how much the thought of that turns you on…."

"John-" Sherlock swallowed convulsively.

"You really want that, don't you?" John ghosted his fingers along Sherlock's ribs. "You want some public declaration that we're together. The most important people already know, but you want it public, don't you?" He paused as the mood changed between them. John spoke softly, but seriously. "Can you tell me why?"

"I- John," Sherlock stammered, looked down at the floor, all his earlier bravado gone. He took a deep breath, keeping his eyes downcast. "When you show up with a hickey, no one thinks anything of it. It could be from any girlfriend, any one night stand, it's no big deal. It doesn't necessarily mean anything about me. Maybe it only indicates that you are still seeking affection elsewhere. But-" he stopped there, embarrassed at wanting, _needing_ this so much.

"But if you show up with one too, the same day as me, then maybe they'll draw the right conclusion, yes?" John finished for him. Sherlock nodded, still looking at the floor. John slid a finger under his lover's chin and tipped his head up until their eyes met. "You know I'm not ashamed of you, right? That I'm proud to be with you? Yeah, the whole PDA thing makes me uncomfortable, but that isn't as important as your feelings. It really bothers you that it's not general knowledge?"

Sherlock hesitated. In for a penny...

"As long as most people don't know, it, well it makes it look like you are still available." The last portion of that statement came out in a rush.

John's mouth dropped open in shock.

"You know I'd never do that, don't you? I'd never just drop you for anyone else? That I'm not even looking? Hell, I don't want to look, looking is the farthest thing from my mind!"

Sherlock winced at John's protestations. He knew he shouldn't have said anything, now John was upset with him.

"No! Stop that train of thought right there. I am not mad at you. I'm mad at myself for not realizing this was so important to you. You're right, everyone should know. Maybe then the witnesses will stop flirting with you. Sends me 'round the twist that does."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to be shocked. John was jealous? Of what? No one was ever interested in Sherlock, at least not once he spoke to them...

"You don't think it makes me crazy? Watching you flirt with them right in front of me? Watching them flirt back?" John let out a full belly laugh. "Lestrade told me once that when they flirt back with you was when he would check to see if I had brought my gun."

"But you know that's just for a case! It means nothing! Less than nothing! I wouldn't even bother to deduce those morons if it weren't for a case!"

"Of course I know that, you tit. But it doesn't change the fact that, well, you don't flirt with me like that, not where anyone else can see." John cleared his throat. "Not saying I want us all over each other, and I know sometimes the flirting can help get information, but maybe we both need to loosen up a bit."

Sherlock wound his long arms around John and pulled him in, nuzzling his hair. "How did I get so lucky? To find you in the first place. To have the chance to get to know you. To fall in love with you. To have you love me back. I have never been so happy." He sighed, and softened his voice even further. "Or so afraid."

"Of what? Losing me? Good luck with that. I've never had a relationship mean so much to me. I thought I had been in love before, but I've never felt anything close to this. You are well and truly stuck with me Sherlock Holmes."

John tipped his head up and pressed a kiss to the underside of Sherlock's chin. He sighed and pulled back a bit. "Let's get ourselves decent and order a take away. We'll cuddle on the sofa, watch some crap telly, and go to bed early." He winked up at his beau as he continued. "And then we'll see about that hickey of yours…"


End file.
